Chapter 1:Fox shadow on the rooftop

The setting sun stretched Su Liwan’s slender figure long and lonely as she stood quietly on the teaching building’s rooftop.

She watched her classmates walking in small groups on the playground, a faint smile tugging at her lips. But in a moment no one else could see, that smile faded away. She studied her excessively delicate face in the mirror dozens of times each day—not out of vanity, but from a deep, gnawing unease. She always felt an invisible force chasing her from behind, forcing her to exhaust every bit of beauty, to drain every flicker of light from her body.

She never knew she was the reincarnation of a fox spirit from the Fox Star. She only knew that, since childhood, she had craved attention, praise, and all kinds of affection far more than others—desperately wanting to be cherished and held gently in someone’s palm.

Inside the classroom, Qin Ruhai was grading homework at his desk. The red pen scratched across the paper in soft, rustling sounds. Suddenly, he paused, lifted his eyes, and looked out the window. The familiar figure had appeared on the rooftop again.

He frowned slightly, but felt no real worry. This was far from the first time she had stood there, gazing into the distance. He always paid attention to his students’ little habits, yet with Su Liwan, he found himself noticing her far more than the others.

Perhaps it was her eyes. Within them lay a complicated emotion—like a deep, burning flame, yet also like a candle flame that might flicker out at any moment, fragile yet scorching.

“Mr. Qin, aren’t you leaving yet?” a colleague asked, packing up supplies.

“I’ll be right there.” Qin Ruhai smiled faintly, but his gaze drifted uncontrollably back to the window. The figure on the rooftop was gone. He lowered his head and continued grading the last homework book—Su Liwan’s.

Her handwriting was gentle and elegant, her answers clear and nearly flawless. He wrote an “Excellent” at the end. After a moment of hesitation, he added: “Excellent problem-solving logic. Keep it up.”

He knew he was showing her special attention, and he knew this “special care” carried hidden risks. Yet he kept reassuring himself that she was simply talented and hardworking, worthy of his guidance. Even he only half believed his own words.

By the time Su Liwan walked out of the teaching building, a small crowd had gathered at the school gate. She had no intention of joining in, but a sharp roar of a motorcycle made her turn her head instinctively.

A heavy black motorcycle stopped steadily at the gate. On it sat a man in a leather jacket, his hair neatly styled, a cigarette between his lips. He whistled toward the crowd.

“Beautiful, want a ride?”

The girls around blushed and hurried past with their heads down. Su Liwan also lowered her eyes and walked forward, but her heart suddenly raced—not from teenage shyness, but from the thrill of being noticed, of being singled out by someone so bold. It ran through her spine like electricity, making her shiver.

She quickened her pace, but as she stepped out of the gate, she could not help glancing back. The man was smiling at her, showing neat white teeth.

“I’m Zhou Hu. Don’t forget me!”

Su Liwan turned away quickly, walking even faster. Her ears turned pink, yet the corner of her mouth lifted uncontrollably.

The next day, Zhou Hu appeared at the school gate again. This time, he held a bouquet of bright red roses. The style was a little tacky, but among the sea of school uniforms, it blazed like fire, impossible to miss.

“Su Liwan!” he called her name loudly, as if afraid the whole school would not hear.

Su Liwan froze. The students around her whooped and teased. She should have turned away. She should have refused coldly. But her feet felt heavy, rooted to the ground. She watched him push through the crowd and force the roses into her arms.

“Give me face. Let’s have dinner together.”

“I don’t even know you,” she pushed the flowers back, her voice soft and lacking any real strength.

“We met yesterday, didn’t we?” Zhou Hu grinned even wider. “I’ve been around this area for years, and I’ve never seen a girl as stunning as you. Just one meal. For me.”

The stares around her pricked like fine needles—envy, contempt, schadenfreude. Su Liwan bit her lower lip. Those eyes embarrassed her, yet they also stirred a strange excitement inside her. She hated being watched, but feared being ignored even more.

“I…I need to go home.”

“I’ll take you.” Zhou Hu patted the back seat of his motorcycle, his tone firm. “I’ll get you home safe.”

Su Liwan looked at him, then at the black motorcycle. Its body glinted coldly in the sunset, wild and unruly—just like him. She hesitated for only three seconds before bending down and sitting behind him.

The moment the heavy motorcycle roared out of the gate, Su Liwan’s heart beat so fast it felt like it would burst from her chest. She had no idea she was not sitting on an ordinary motorcycle, but on a one-way train heading straight for the abyss.

Qin Ruhai stood by the office window, watching the motorcycle disappear around the corner. The red pen in his hand clattered to the floor, but he did not even notice, did not bend to pick it up.

The young girl was sitting behind a hoodlum, her hair messy in the wind, yet her face held a wild, carefree smile—a smile he had never seen on her before.

He turned around, picked up his phone, and tried to message her. He typed words one by one, then deleted them all. After several attempts, he finally sent only one line:

“Be careful on your way home. Remember to hand in your math homework on time tomorrow.”

The message sank like a stone into the sea. No reply came.

Su Liwan leaned against Zhou Hu’s back. The wind howled so loudly she could barely open her eyes. Zhou Hu rode recklessly, weaving through traffic. Every acceleration made her grip his clothes tightly. He noticed and chuckled, speeding up even more.

They stopped at a street food stall. Zhou Hu ordered a full table of dishes and opened several bottles of beer. Su Liwan politely said she did not drink, but he pressed a glass into her hand anyway.

“First drink—let’s be friends.”

She drank it anyway. The alcohol burned her throat, but the faint dizziness that followed felt strangely intoxicating. Diners around stared at the elegant schoolgirl drinking beside a street thug. Those odd looks made her uncomfortable, but Zhou Hu did not care at all, laughing loudly as if no one else existed. That utter recklessness gradually fascinated her.

“What do you plan to do in the future?” Zhou Hu asked.

“Go to college. A good one,” Su Liwan replied softly.

“What’s the point of college?” Zhou Hu snorted in disdain. “After graduation, you’ll just work for someone else, earning a tiny salary every month. With your looks, marry someone rich, and you’ll live comfortably for life.”

Su Liwan fell silent. Those words planted a seed in the softest, dampest corner of her heart, one that would soon take root and grow.

Zhou Hu filled her glass again, his voice tempting.

“Stay with me. I’ll never let you suffer.”

Su Liwan stared at the golden liquid swirling in the cup. Images flashed through her mind: her father leaving early and returning late, exhausted every day; her mother eyeing a coat she could never bear to buy; the dress she had longed for but never dared ask for.

She lifted the glass and drank it all in one gulp.

That night, Zhou Hu dropped Su Liwan off at her neighborhood gate. She quietly opened the door, thinking she had gotten away with it—when the living room light flickered on. Her father sat on the sofa, his face dark with anger.

“Where have you been?”

“A classmate’s birthday. We celebrated,” Su Liwan lied without blinking.

“Why do you smell like alcohol?”

“Just a little.”

Her father stood up, about to speak, but her mother stopped him. Mother gave her a gentle look and said softly, “Go wash up. You have school tomorrow.”

Su Liwan fled to the bathroom in relief. Staring at her slightly flushed face in the mirror, her eyes shone brightly, her lips still stained faintly with alcohol. She slowly smiled at her reflection—bright, beautiful, yet strangely distant.

She did not notice that, in the mirror, the outline of a fox faintly appeared behind her figure.

Her phone vibrated. She dried her hands and checked it: a message from Qin Ruhai, reminding her about the homework she had never replied to.

Her finger hovered over the screen. She typed a few words, then deleted them all. In the end, she only sent one simple character:

“Mm.”

She knew the reply was cold, but she could not show even a trace of warmth. She had already sensed it keenly—the way Qin Ruhai looked at her was the same indescribable feeling she held for Zhou Hu.

And using that kind of feeling was always what she did best.

She turned off her phone and lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. The day’s events replayed in her head, her thoughts a mess. Zhou Hu’s smile, Qin Ruhai’s message, her classmates’ stares, her parents’ questioning—all the voices tangled together, leaving her exhausted yet strangely excited.

She slowly closed her eyes. A pure white fox suddenly appeared in her mind, standing on the edge of a cliff. Behind it was an endless abyss; before it, empty void. It turned to look at her, golden eyes filled with emotions she could not understand.

Su Liwan jolted awake. Her back was soaked in cold sweat.

Outside the window, a full moon hung high, casting pale light. A night bird flew across the sky, letting out a shrill cry.

The wheel of fate had begun to turn, quietly, unnoticed.

And she had no idea that this single turn would lead her straight into an abyss of eternal ruin.

That night, Qin Ruhai also could not sleep. He sat in his study, the math homework spread open before him, stopping at the last page—Su Liwan’s. He had finished grading all the other students’ work, yet this one book he flipped through again and again.

Beneath the red “Excellent,” his handwritten comment had long dried. He stretched out his finger and gently traced the line, his touch cold.

He thought of what he had seen that afternoon: the young girl sitting behind a hoodlum’s motorcycle, her hair flying, revealing her slender neck, her smile bright and wild—a smile she had never shown him.

Qin Ruhai slowly closed the book and shut his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“She is your student,” he whispered to himself. “You are her teacher. You cannot cross the line.”

The words were as light as bubbles, more like a lie he told himself.

He placed the homework deep inside his desk drawer, stood up, and poured a glass of cold water. The icy liquid burned down his throat, stinging his stomach. He leaned against the kitchen wall, staring at the ceiling. The lamp hummed softly, like an ancient, fateful spell.

His phone vibrated again. He picked it up and saw Su Liwan’s single reply:

“Mm.”

Nothing more.

Qin Ruhai stared at the characters on the screen for a long time, then flipped the phone face-down, as if that could suppress the emotions churning inside him.

But he knew better than anyone.

Once certain feelings take root, they can never be restrained.

Just as he was already sure that, from this day onward, everything had quietly strayed from its original path.

And that young girl, sitting behind a motorcycle, smiling wildly and freely—she would eventually become the disaster he could never run from, never escape, in his entire life.

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